


Real Life, Real Love

by Ela97



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ela97/pseuds/Ela97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts from where 5x12 left off and evolves into Quinn's strive for a 'real life' after the events in Berlin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate, Destiny and Horoscopes

Stunned by the movie-like scenario Carrie gasped as she gazed at his face and admired how perfect he looked in the natural lighting of the beaming sun. _Is this fate?_ A smile formed across her mouth as she took in the beauty of him, studying every detail as the light absorbed into his skin. She'd always known he was beautiful but felt like this was the first time she was allowing herself to accept it. He was _so_ fucking beautiful. Then something hit her, everything that she had planned to happen in this very moment seemed toxic, her plan suddenly felt even more sickening, wrong. He may not believe in fate or destiny she thought, _but I do_. God, what was she thinking? She replayed the conversation that she had with Dar in her head about Quinn's recruitment. He was fucking groomed, he'd never have chosen this life and it would be pretty fucked up if he wasn't going to choose his own fate now. If he _was_ going to die then he was to make that decision himself. Not her, not Dar, but him. She slipped the heart monitor back onto his finger and stood staring as the light began to fade from his angel-like face. She scolded herself internally for conjuring up this 'selfless' plan that at the time felt so right, something that Quinn would have wanted. Oh how wrong it felt now. 

"I can't, Quinn" she whispered. "I'm not making this decision for you, not this time" her voice breaking mid-sentence.

She gently sat herself beside him and took his lifeless hand in hers. Her stomach turned, had she actually thought about smothering him?  _Holy fuck_. But she was desperate. Tears began to escape from her eyes because now she thought about how badly she wanted him to wake up. She'd do anything.

"I need you" she breathed desperately, eyeing him, as a tear raced down her face. She brought her hand up to his cheek and cupped his chin with her index finger, brushing her thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

"Please Quinn, just do this last thing for me and I won't ask for anything again, I promise" she begged. 

Nothing compares to how much she needs him _now_. How much she wants him. She thought back to Islamabad and their conversation they had over the phone about Sandy - how his death was unpreventable - she so easily talked him into helping her out, joining her. ' _I_   _really need you now'._   She thought back, now realising how loyal he had been to her despite everything he was going through, never once had she thought about how _he_ felt - this was her biggest regret. How could she have been so selfish? 

Moments passed and as she began to withdraw from his beauty she remembered that the door was still locked. _Shit_ . She quickly paced back to the door and grabbed the chair - that prevented any disruptions - and placed it back in it's original spot beside his bed. It was as if it had never been moved. Nobody would have known. She walked back to his side and clasped her hands behind her head, biting her bottom lip as she looked down at him, holding a gaze on his perfect face. Ironically, she'd never seen him look so peaceful. Of course she'd seen him unconscious before, - which was actually the first time ever that she'd been exposed to his weaknesses, something that she'd been too blind to know he had at all. Weaknesses. Like every human. But for her he'd always been something much more than the ordinary human, an indestructible robot perhaps, moulded by the CIA. He alway kept on this mask. And it was only on rare occasions the mask would slip when she'd see the real Quinn seep through, a broken man just trying to do good. A human being. - she remembered how hard it was to see him in that state of unconsciousness. This new side of him. It wasn't something she wanted to get used to, but here he was again, and this time somehow more peaceful - fucking _minimally_ conscious. ' _Poor Peter'_.

Deep in thought, she felt a sudden urge to touch him. Like something was compelling her. Was it his beauty? Peter fucking Quinn unconscious and still a charming fucker.  _Fuck it, if anyone walks in_ she thought. She seriously couldn't give a fuck anymore. So she stepped closer to the bed and sat herself next to him again, her hip gently touching the side his left rib cage. She reached out her hand and stroked his cheek with her fingers, her gentle touch slowly making its way across to his lips, still moist from the chap stick that she applied earlier. Being this close and staring at them now took her back two years ago. Outside her house. Next to his car. In the dark. She remembered the excitement yet nervousness that she felt in her stomach as he leaned in to kiss her. Is that what she'd been missing? Him. It would have been a fucking yes, they both would have got out and this clusterfuck would never have happened. But she never blamed him for leaving, although it killed her inside. After all, she had a nice life with Jonas. She couldn't wait around forever.

But just being with him in this moment helped her forget about Jonas, in fact she hadn't thought about him since she'd visited Quinn four days ago. Of course she loved Jonas but Quinn just had this affect on her and she appreciated how secure she felt around him. They both just _got each other_. Quinn and her. Like two attracting magnets. And sure, they argued like a fucking married couple and sure he was a giant pain in the ass at times but she loved being with him, craved his presence. Always. 

She moved in closer now. Her hand reached up, fingers parted as she combed through his now flat and soft hair, slightly messing it up as she did so, just how she liked it. Tousled. After a good few minutes of admiring him she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. The letter that once a functioning Quinn had written. Her hand began to tremble slightly and uncontrollably as she read his words for the second time. His voice echoing in her mind.

_'I loved you. Yours, for always now, Quinn'_

A tear raced down her cheek and her chin began to wobble. _Fuck_ she thought. _I really can't lose you. I can't._ How had it come to this? Quinn, the loveable assassin, the beautiful mystery. Quinn, her best friend. Lying on his death bed minimally conscious. She always thought he'd live forever, he was indestructible right? What a gullible idiot she thought. Staring at him, her face so close to his sent her head crazy. Her brain was flooded now. Flooded with pictures and voices. _Memories_. She thought all the way back to the first time they'd met. Remembered it vividly. What a cocky bastard he was. She huffed out a small laugh at this recollection. She never would have imagined how close they'd become after their painful meet and greet. _'The guy running things'_ what a cocky ass. God, she missed that.

She raised a hand to her mouth as a way of concealing her moan as the thought of losing him washed over her again. She squeezed her eyes shut, releasing fresh tears. Each memory of him inflicting pain to her heart like a stabbing knife. She shook her head clearing her mind and smiled a sad smile, then placed a hand gently on the bed sheet above his heart.

"Yours" she whispered.


	2. The Final Goodbye

9 days later he woke.

* * *

He proved everyone wrong; he avoided the inevitable. It was a breezy night and the sun had just began to set; leaving a warm pink tint in the sky and a pale glow of the reappearing moon. Carrie was at his side as always; and with visiting time almost over she was finishing up reading an article to him that she'd gotten up on her phone, which she found somewhat amusing. Headlined _Trump target of tomato throwers at rally in Manhattan_ how could she resist _._  Reading to him had become one of the many rituals she’d adopted since visiting - along with applying chapstick to his lips and moisturizer to his hands - she so desperately wanted him to know that she was there with him, that he wasn’t alone in this. The nurses also recommended that talking could trigger some sort of reflex reaction considering the performance she displayed days ago. So she always did; she would bring books to read, ones from her apartment that she thought he'd might like. And when she got tired of books she'd talk for hours. She'd talk about everything, mostly about nothing; the weather, the news, and then sometimes about her childhood and her dad, and about Franny. _Franny_. She always failed to conceal her tears when she’d talk about Franny, her emotions were a mix of guilt and yearning; Skype calls and phone calls were just never enough. But Carrie knew that it was best to keep her in the US with Maggie until everything had died down. Not only that, but she wanted to be there for Quinn, it was something that he more than deserved after everything that had happened. She couldn't leave him.

She was there with him constantly. From opening to closing hours; 10:00am right through to 8:00pm. She tried her best to ignore the nurses pitiful looks when they'd do their daily check ups on him because she knew that they’d lost faith and she hated that. But honestly she couldn’t blame them considering everything he’d endured; she just knew that _she’d_ never give up on him. He'd do the same if he were her and she knew that also. Surprisingly, she hadn't seen Doctor Emory for days which she thought was odd, but she didn't question it because she really liked Quinn's new female Doctor that he'd been assigned to. (Yes, he was fired he deserved it)

Sometimes Astrid would visit for an hour or two when she had time off from her busy schedule at the BND, and Carrie always appreciated her company. She loved hearing the stories she had about her and Quinn from years ago; they would talk for hours. They’d laugh and they’d cry and at times they'd simply sit in silence, just taking him in. Sometimes she’d be alone with him and a small laugh would escape her lips when she’d think about the story of his and Astrid's drunken night in Copenhagen; who knew he would've ever be up for karaoke. These little things were what kept the fire of hope burning inside her - he had so much more life in him. She wouldn't let him die. She couldn't.

Dar and Saul had returned to Langley for a debrief meeting almost immediately after the thwarted attack. But Dar called her every single day to ask about Quinn; about how he was doing and whether there'd been any changes to his prognosis. Their conversation would always be brief as there was never a lot to say regarding Quinn's condition; changes were minimal but every sign of improvement was good news and something to hold onto. Carrie told Dar she'd call if there were any major changes but that didn't stop him. He was obsessed, like a concerned father asking about his son and Carrie admired that about him; his one redeeming quality. Caring was never something she thought Dar was capable of and never realised that his connection with Quinn was so binding - much like her and Saul's once was. _Saul_. Saul called her too, once actually. He briefly asked about Quinn but she knew that wasn't the real reason he'd called. He brought up his offer again, about her returning to the CIA but _no_ was always going to be her answer. She just wished he'd let it go, now wasn't the time.

When she'd finished reading she checked her watch and with only five minutes left of visiting time she sighed as she looked up at him sadly. He was thinner than ever and still unconscious; hadn’t moved an inch, this had become the new normal for Quinn. She always stayed to the very last second; 8:00pm on the dot, always reluctant to leave. It always seemed like she was the last visitor there, walking the lonely corridor of ward A. The only one too stubborn to accept the inevitable? she'd think, before shaking away the evil but realistic thought of the more probable outcome.

Minutes passed and the silent gaze she held on him was interrupted by the creaking of the door. She turned her head to see nurse Jenkins in the frame.

“Miss Mathison, I’m sorry but it’s almost time” she said softly gesturing to the clock on the wall opposite.

With a small smile, and sorrowed eyes Carrie nodded slowly.

“I’ll give you a minute, dear” the nurse whispered before closing the door silently behind her.

Carrie turned her attention back to Quinn, so peaceful, so still. She reached out and squeezed his hand gently before stroking it with her thumb. It was that time again, the end of her routine and nothing had changed. She sighed then stood up arching her back and stretching her arms above her head, loosening her tightened muscles and stiffened bones. She stuffed her phone into her jeans pocket and grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and slipped it on slowly, then sat on the small space of bed beside him.

“Hey” she whispered, leaning in and stroking his cheek with the back of her hand.

“It’s time for me to go now, but I’ll be back again tomorrow. Astrid called me earlier and told me she’ll be here in the afternoon so I guess that means you’ll have to put up with the both of us again. Who'd have thought it huh, Quinn? _Me and Astrid,_ best friends” she whispered, smiling a small smile at him.

She shook her head and sighed; "God, how did this happen, Quinn?" Then she paused, eyeing him forehead to chin. Her hand making it’s way to his chest in the direction of his heart.

“I will _never_ give up on you, you know that don’t you?" she added, feeling the steady rhythm of beats under the sheet.

"Please, don’t give up on me”

Her voice began to break and a tear rolled down her cheek, but she kept it together with a long breath in ... and out. She leaned in closer, closed her eyes and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, holding it there for a few seconds before pulling back slowly. She looked at his peaceful face and stroked his cheek again before getting up off the bed. She grabbed her bag that was sat under her chair and readied herself to leave. Holding a gaze on him again for a few more seconds at the foot of his bed she shut her eyes, another tear escaping that she brushed away with her hand as realisation hit her again, like it did every so often. She wished she could go back two and a half years and do everything over.

"Bye, Quinn" he whispered; reluctantly turning away from him towards the door. Goodbyes were always difficult. It always took extreme willpower for her not to turn back to him at the door because she knew that if she could, she would never leave. What was there to go back to anyway, she had nothing left here but him, he was her everything now.

As she approached the door she reached out for the handle, when the unpredictable happened.

She heard a quiet groan; barely audible. She froze for a brief moment in disbelief; her first instinct that her mind was playing tricks on her again like it had been the past week. Any sound that interrupted the silent moments of her visits had made her turn to him, hoping, always hoping, but nothing. Not this time. Puzzled, she darted her head toward him feeling the sudden rise of butterflies in her stomach. Then his eyes slowly fluttered open - just like in her dreams - she was fixated on the crystal clear blue that she’d missed so deeply; her breath hitched at the sight. It was in this very moment that her whole world shifted slightly.

It was a miracle. He'd made it.


End file.
